


You May Go

by Bookkbaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas-centric, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkbaby/pseuds/Bookkbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”You’ve done well, Castiel. You may go.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You May Go

Castiel awoke to the scent of freshly spilled blood and an odd sense of loss, like he’d been carrying something and had set it down he knew not where.

He looked around, a feeling of uneasiness slithering somewhere between his stomach and his lungs. His head was wool-thick and fuzzy, his thoughts getting tangled in the fibers so thoroughly he couldn’t seem to dig a complete idea out of the mess; the last time he’d been this disoriented, he’d woken up inside a political campaign office surrounded by tens of dead humans.

 

This time was not much different. He stared unblinkingly at the dead bodies that shared the warehouse with him. Blood pooled around their bodies, creating miniature lakes on the dirty concrete floor. Some of the bodies had empty sockets for eyes and burn marks on their faces; a few were half blackened skeleton rather than flesh. Castiel could smell sulfur mixed in with the copper, but the thought that some of the twenty or more dead had been demonically possessed was little comfort.

His hands were tacky. He could feel blood drying on his face and in his hair. His clothing stuck to him in uncomfortable patches.

“What have I done…?” he asked out loud. The words fell flat and he backed up a step as if he could outrun the evidence around him, covering him.

The back of his ankle hit something firm and slightly squishy. He spun, heart falling when his eyes settled on the devastation behind him.

There were at least seven more bodies, bringing the total to over thirty.

_“You’ve done well, Castiel. You may go.”_

The words echoed in his head; a memory, not a projection, and they sounded so familiar yet not. The woman who spoke them was the same, somehow known but also a stranger. Castiel couldn’t think. The more he tried, the worse his head felt, like he was trying to thread the wool of his thoughts between the atoms of a needle.

The woman’s name, the meaning of her final words to him, and his purpose here all came back to Castiel in one sickening swoop.

Naomi had wanted the angel tablet for some unknown purpose and through Crowley’s minions had found or bartered for it first, it was now in her hands. Castiel stared at his palms as though he could will the tablet back into his grasp by wishing, but it was gone. All Castiel had left was the blood on his hands.

He folded his hands into fists and let them drop at his sides. He could hear sirens rapidly approaching the building. The police or the firemen, whatever service had been summoned, would be there within minutes.

Cas looked at all the people he had killed, the weight of empty sockets and unseeing eyes dragging him down.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He’d never apologize for smiting demons, but there had been humans here as well. Maybe not the kindest or purest of souls, but they had been _human_  and Castiel had killed them too, along with the demons and their hosts.

He couldn’t save anyone. This wasn’t penance, this was piling more sin upon himself. How many babies saved made up for this? How many children flown from burning buildings; how many grandparents with miraculously cleared arteries?

The sirens were just outside the building now, but stationary. Castiel could hear the car doors slam and footsteps on loose gravel.

He shut his eyes and bowed his head in recognition for the dead. By the time the cops entered the warehouse, all they found were bodies.

Castiel flew. He was still missing time, but things were coming back in bits and pieces that twisted his stomach. He could remember other warehouses, other raids on demon nests in search of the tablet. He’d been little more than a puppet, but the thought gave him no peace. It was still his hands that had carried out the orders from his puppetmaster.

The only memories that gave him any comfort were Dean’s prayers. Cas didn’t know how long it had been since he had last seen the Winchesters, how long since he had tried to rescue Samandriel from Crowley and ended up killing him instead, but Dean had been praying to him every day since.

For the last week, all the prayers had come from the same spot; a secluded cabin that Cas knew to belong to Rufus. With any luck, Sam and Dean would still be there.

He finally landed hard on the creaky wooden planks of the living room floor, stumbling forward two steps to catch his balance. The ‘thud’ of his crash landing startled both Dean and Sam. The brothers leapt up from where they had been relaxing on the couch, both instantly on their guard and reaching for weapons and they turned to face the perceived threat.

For a moment, the only sound was the fuzzy audio of the bad Spanish soap opera Sam and Dean had been watching.

“Cas,” Dean said, stunned. He dropped the machete he’d picked up and came around the couch, never taking his eyes off of the angel. Sam sheathed the demon-killing knife and came around the other side of the couch. Neither came within ten feet of Castiel, though he supposed that only made sense; he was still covered in undried patches of blood.

“You ok, Cas?” Dean asked, eyeing the red stains. “What happened to you?”

“I need your help,” Cas said, stepping forward. The floor was clear, almost unnaturally so. The rug was gone and the furniture had been pushed towards the walls, but Cas barely noticed. He had to tell Dean and Sam what he’d done. They knew sin, they knew penance, they knew redemption; surely they would be able to tell him how best to atone for what he’d done?

Cas used to think he knew best how to make up for his sins, but if all his mistakes since his first brush with true free will, that first averted Apocalypse, had taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t trust himself. Crowley had taught him that he couldn’t trust himself to know what to do without guidance and Naomi had taught him that he couldn’t even trust that his actions were really his own. He couldn’t even trust Heaven, not when his Father had abandoned them and Zachariah and Raphael had been determined to lay waste to God’s last, best works of art.

All he had left to believe in was the family he had chosen for himself; the first and best decision he had ever made on his own.

Cas was too lost in his thoughts to see the glance Dean shot towards Sam, and as his back was towards the younger Winchester, he didn’t see the unhappy but resolute nod Sam returned. Cas didn’t see the lighter Sam pulled out of his pocket.

But he did hear it click. He turned just in time to see Sam drop the lighter, the tiny flame bursting into a fireball and racing along the circle of holy oil painted on the floor. Cas spun, heart in his throat as he tried to find an exit, but it was too late. He was surrounded completely, helpless in the center of a circle no more than seven feet in diameter.

Dean was speaking again, but the words were mush in Castiel’s ears, drowned out by the fire roaring all around him. He looked up at Dean without seeing him, mind flashing back to the last time he’d been trapped inside holy fire. In his mind, he could see Dean and Sam just as they had been that night; angry, hurt, suspecting the worst of him and perhaps they had been right to. It was Castiel’s fault that their world had nearly been consumed whole by the Leviathan. It was Castiel who had betrayed their trust by working with Crowley, no matter his reasons and justifications.

Their faith in him had been shattered that night, irreparably so, and Castiel could blame no one but himself. It was no wonder they couldn’t trust him, not now when he had betrayed them twice over, even if he hadn’t meant to.

He’d only wanted to keep them  _safe_.

Dean was still speaking, voice getting progressively louder, but the words were little more than a buzz in Castiel’s ears. He couldn’t parse them and didn’t want to try.

He never should have been rescued from Purgatory. Maybe he could do no good there, but at least he could hurt no one. Here, his sins far outweighed the good he could do. Perhaps they always would. Perhaps there was nothing he could do to atone. All he could do was claw at the chance to do small acts of good, even as he fell deeper and deeper into sin.

But no matter what, he was certain now that the bad would always outweigh the good, and what reason did he have to strive? He had lost everything. His family, his home, his faith… it had all slipped through his fingers.

Maybe it would be best for everyone if he simply removed himself from the equation. Purgatory was closed to him, but there were other ways to ensure that he could never hurt anyone, nor be used to hurt anyone ever again. The very thought was blasphemous, but he’d been committing worse than blasphemy lately and as a final sin, blasphemy wasn’t the worst.

Castiel’s churning thoughts settled. He eyed the flames around him, watching as hungry tongues licked the air. Fire was less elegant than a blade, far more painful and much slower, but it was fitting. The pain he’d feel as his body and Grace were reduced to ashes would be his penance. Pitiful as it was, completely unequal to the task of redeeming him, it would be something.

And with any luck, whatever force had seen fit to revive him time and time again would be unable to if there was nothing of Castiel left to work with.

Castiel stepped forward, a strange kind of calmness overtaking him as he approached one curved wall of his prison. He felt the temperature skyrocket as he neared the flames. His instincts screamed at him to back away, but he quieted them as he lifted his foot to take the last step into the laughably thin line of fire.

Something heavy hit him in the chest. Caught off balance and off guard, Castiel stumbled back a few steps into the center of the ring. His arms came up to steady Dean, who had full-body tackled him away from the flames.

“What the  _fuck_  was that?!” Dean demanded, seizing fistfuls of Castiel’s coat and shirt, heedless of the sticky patches of blood. He shook Cas roughly. “What the _hell_  were you trying to do?”

Dean’s eyes were wide and terrified beneath the thin layer of anger. Castiel could already see his fury beginning to crack around the edges. Dean’s hands trembled.

“What did it look like?” Cas asked. It might have been snarky if he’d had more energy. Dean swallowed thickly.

“Holy fire kills angels,” Dean said lowly, like he thought that Cas had somehow forgotten and the knowledge wasn’t hanging over their heads. His voice was desperate with the hope that the obvious answer wasn’t the correct one.

“I know,” Cas said, and he watched as Dean’s expression shattered.

“Damn it, Cas…” Dean said, voice uneven. His hands were still fisted in Cas’s coat, but there was no strength in his grip. “You sonuvabitch, you can’t. Do you hear me? You can’t do that to me.”

With those words, the numbness inside Castiel burned away and ignited into rage.

“I can’t do this to  _you_?” Cas snapped, hands balling into fists at his sides. “For once, Dean, this isn’t about you. This is about me, my penance-“

“And you think  _burning yourself alive in front of me_  is going to fix anything?!” Dean shot back. “What’s that supposed to atone for, Cas? What does  _killing yourself_ solve?”

“Nothing,” Cas answered flatly. “My death fixes nothing and it atones for nothing, but having no effect is better than destroying everything all over again!”

“What are you destroying by  _living_?” Dean demanded in an intense hiss.

Cas slumped, the fight draining out of him as quickly as his anger had swelled. He lifted his hands to Dean’s wrists and tried to tug them away from his coat. Dean tightened his grip, refusing to be moved, and Cas stopped trying before he hurt the human. He let his hands rest on the delicate bones, feeling the flutter of Dean’s pulse through his fingertips.

“Everything,” Cas answered tiredly. “I’ll destroy everything; I’ve  _lost_ everything. Let me go, Dean.”

“So what, Sam and I don’t mean anything to you?” Dean asked, but there was no accusation in his tone. Just hurt.

“Dean,” Cas said heavily. “I’ve lost Heaven. I’ve lost my garrison.” He caught Dean’s eyes, willing him to understand. “And I lost you and Sam the moment I decided to betray you.”

“‘Decided to’?” Dean asked. His expression turned conflicted, wariness and worry fighting for control. He didn’t move. “What do you mean?”

“When I worked with Crowley to defeat Raphael,” Cas said. Dean’s expression cleared instantly.

“You’re still hung up on that?” Dean asked. Stung, Castiel drew back, but Dean chased him that half a step, pulling on his trench coat. “Cas, we forgave you. We all fucked up back then, but-“

“You no longer  _trust me_ ,” Cas snapped. “And it’s my fault that you lost faith in me.”

“Cas,” Dean said, moving his head to lock eyes once more. “Cas, hey, look at me.”

Because it was Dean asking, Cas couldn’t refuse. He reluctantly met the hunter’s gaze and waited.

“We trust you, all right?” Dean said, voice oddly gentle, but still firm. “I trust you with my life. Hell, I trust you with  _Sammy’s_  life.”

At the mention of the younger Winchester, Cas glanced towards where he had last seen him. Sam was gone, but Cas could sense a presence in one of the bedrooms behind a now-closed door. In a way, Cas was glad that Sam wasn’t here to witness this conversation. While he had come to care for Sam very much, his bond with Dean was deeper and much more profound.

“You’ve earned that,” Dean said.

“I also broke it,” Cas retorted, flinching as he remembered what he had done to Sam in those dark days before the end of the war. “By all rights, you should both hate me.”

“We don’t,” Dean snapped. His expression softened. “You’re family.”

Cas glanced down again, eyes lingering on the flames.

“Do you often trap those you trust in cages that can kill them?” he asked softly. Dean seemed taken aback.

“Cas, the holy fire isn’t for you,” Dean said. Cas stared up at him.

“For who, then, if not me?” he asked tonelessly.

“It is to keep you in place, but not because of you.” Dean clenched his jaw, anger igniting once more behind his eyes. “It’s in case whatever son-of-a-bitch that got their hands on you is still pulling the strings. Once we’re sure you’re not going to go all robo-angel on us, we’ll let you out.”

“Dean…” Cas said, stunned. Some of the heaviness in his chest lifted. This time, it was Dean that glanced away.

“I’ve had nightmares the past two weeks, you know that?” Dean said gruffly, not meeting Castiel’s eyes. “You’d show up, only it wasn’t really you, and you’d attack Sam. Sometimes you’d kill him, sometimes he’d kill you, but either way-” Dean cut himself off with a violent shake of his head. He snapped his gaze back up to meet Castiel’s. “And I can’t, all right? That’s not fucking happening.”

Cas had no words, voice caught in his throat at the sudden outpouring of emotion. He nodded. Dean cleared his throat.

“We know someone who got herself a fairy girlfriend,” Dean said. “Long story short; we freed the fairy from some bad mojo and she helped us out with some rituals that should be able to not only tell if you’re being controlled, but pry out any of the claws whoever it is has in you. It’s pagan, but it should work.” Dean drew back, then paused. “I’m going to go get Sam now so we can get this over with. Just… stay put, all right?”

“I will,” Cas promised, shuffling a bit more towards the center of the holy fire circle. Dean smiled at the gesture, but it was thin and strained. He lingered, something clearly on his mind. Cas waited.

“You don’t have anything else you need to make up for,” Dean said finally. “Not to me and I know Sam thinks the same. But if you still feel like you owe us something, or owe the world something, we’ll help you. Anything you need, just… you gotta talk to us, buddy.” That said, Dean abruptly turned and stepped over the ring of fire, head bowed like he was embarrassed.

Cas briefly wondered if these were all things Dean wished someone had told him back when the Apocalypse was new and angels were barely-understood dicks with wings.

“Dean,” he called to the human’s retreating back. Dean stopped but he didn’t turn around. “Thank you.”

Dean looked back over his shoulder, expression serious and a bit more guarded than usual, like he needed to cling extra-tight to his emotions now that he’d let down his guard so far.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean said. Then he continued on, pausing briefly at the door to glance one last time at Cas.

Cas nodded at him seriously and Dean vanished into the bedroom. He left the door open.

Castiel was struck by a sudden sense of deja vu. Again, he was trapped inside a ring of fire while Dean disappeared, but this was miles and worlds away from last time. Last time, he had lost his family.

This time, watching Sam and Dean emerge from the room with a thick book held in Sam’s arms, Castiel felt like he had finally found it again.


End file.
